CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE #2
‘My Valiente would never miss a day of work. I tell you, if De León lasts another term after this, it will be a disgrace to the country.’
More envelopes landed through the Ethel Avenue door.
Theodora’s friends from the studio each sent telegrams for Justine.
Over the radio was an announcement of the disappearance of the Minister for Sorcerie and Magic.
A parchment was sent from the King. Letters came from the Royal Institute of Alliaster.
One morning, to Dot’s surprise, she even found a wooden token from the Ollianne Shrine, written entirely in runes.
After that, a newspaper flew in with the headline:
CITY SHOCKED BY MURDERS – 13 SLAIN IN ALLIASTER
Yet, no matter how many times they knocked, Theodora would not open her door.
It wasn’t until a week and a half after the attack, when Dot was in the courtyard at dusk, watching Lio teach Rupert, that her resolve broke. Rupert had scribbled the rune for levitate.
‘The fourth symbol is a little wonky,’ said Dot over his shoulder.
‘It’s perfectly fine,’ said Lio, and Dot felt a small slap of reprimand. She sat back against the wooden deck, and Rupert placed his hand on the rune. He won’t get this on his first try, Dot thought.
He did.
The parchment shot straight up in the air and the boy let out a cry of surprise.
Lio cheered and thudded him on the back, and Dot flashed with envy of the most extreme degree.
She raced into the house, forcing herself up two storeys.
But she did not stop at her own bedroom – instead, she climbed the attic ladder, tears blurring her vision, and slammed her unafflicted fist against the door.
For the first time in her life, Dot shouted at the top of her lungs.
‘Theodora! You open this damn door or heaven help me I will find an axe and hack it open myself!’
The latch clicked.
The door swung open.
Dot paused in surprise.
‘Hurry up,’ came a gentle, broken voice.
Dot heaved herself slowly, dizzily, into the attic and saw, at last, Theodora’s bedroom.
The sky beyond the windows was purple, casting the enormous room in soft, indigo light.
The space was a mess. The bed was covered in strewn pillows and scattered clothes and the floor was littered in papers, spell books and empty envelopes, half-drunk cups of coffee and jars of cold cream.
The pageboy cap of Maz Bircham hung from one of the brass bedknobs; the cloak of Grand Magician Valiente had been thrown over a lampshade.
There were several canvases of differing size, each half-finished with vistas of a valley of willows.
Incense burned on the bedside table beside a bowl of salt. Above the bed hung a tuft of fennel.
Dot’s eyes darted about. She spotted a huge wardrobe and a small bathroom through an open door but, among the domestic detritus, she could not find the witch.
Instead, she spied shelves of whirring instruments, a carousel of porcelain horses dancing, a fleet of wind chimes twinkling and, on the ceiling, an enormous brass orrery, dimly illuminated, twirling in mirror of the planets above.
A map of Alliaster was stuck to the floor, pins poking into the rug.
A thousand Theodoras lived in this room: a thousand hobbies and tasks and costumes abandoned partway through for something or someone else.
At last, Dot spotted Belchamber.
He was nestled in a small bed in the corner. Dot came to him, and the sight of the spirit so still extinguished her fury. She paused, listening for a wheeze of breath.
‘He will live,’ came Theodora’s quiet voice from behind her.
‘Where are you?’ Dot asked the room. She was careful to avoid the mess on the floor as she came to the main bed and peered around the cushions where, at last, she finally caught a glimpse of raven-coloured hair.
Dot dragged the largest pillow away and there was Theodora.
There were tears down her cheeks and pimples against her chin. Her hair was greasy. Her eyes, empty. She smelled faintly of body odour and unbrushed teeth. The great enchantress of all of Dot’s fantasies was completely and pathetically dismantled.
‘I was going to shout at you,’ said Dot.
‘Why aren’t you?’
‘You look so sad.’
Theodora sniffed. ‘Is that all you’re here to say?’
‘No,’ said Dot.
‘Go away, Dorothy.’
‘I will not. Lio is in the courtyard teaching Rupert to do levitation charms, and that’s what you were supposed to do for me. Instead, you took me to that horrible daemon and you let him . . .’
Dot couldn’t finish. She rubbed her eyes. ‘Did you truly intend to sell me to him?’
‘No,’ said Theodora. ‘I thought, perhaps, if I could just show him some of your blood and then I could, somehow, steal it back from him . . .’
‘How much time did you take away from me,’ hissed Dot, ‘so you could “just show him” my blood, and then change your mind anyway?’
Theodora pulled the quilt over her head. Dot stepped forward and yanked it off her.
‘I’ve been in your house for half a year,’ shouted Dot, ‘and you have never once shared an honest sentiment with me, have you? Why do you hate Lio? Why are a coven of witches hunting you? How in Saints’ name did you end up in this ridiculous situation where you owe money to a daemon of all creatures?
I am sick of being treated like a little girl who is too fragile or too stupid to know the truth of who you are. ’
‘You didn’t tell me about Emily,’ said Theodora.
The shock of Emily’s name sent a jolt through Dot.
‘How do you know about Emily?’ she asked.
‘I saw the same as Salamander,’ said Theodora. ‘The memory was projected from you, like going to the pictures.’ Theodora paused, watching her. ‘I meant only that all of us have buried tragedies, sometimes so pervasive and inextricably sewn into us that to speak them aloud feels like a betrayal.’
‘Stop it,’ said Dot. ‘Stop trying to be clever and poetic. I damn well don’t want to hear it.’
‘That’s the second time you’ve cursed at me, Dorothy.’
‘So bloody what!’ shouted Dot. ‘You’re a coward. Belchamber is hurt, my arm is half turned to scales, your room is a mess and you’re sulking.’
The two of them were quiet a long time until Theodora said, ‘I am.’
‘Am what?’
‘A coward.’
Dot looked at Theodora, and she could see all of the unsaid words plainly on the witch’s dark, heart-shaped face: the sorrow, the humiliation, the guilt.
‘I can see you’re in pain,’ said Dot. ‘And I know that you’re upset about Belchamber and I know that you’re in some kind of trouble with Salamander, but given everything that has happened to me because of you and this tea shop, I need the truth.’
Theodora rubbed her eyes.
‘Bring me some coffee,’ she said, ‘and I’ll tell you.’
‘No,’ said Dot. ‘It’s six o’clock at night and I’m not your servant.’
‘You were so accommodating in the beginning,’ said the witch. ‘I have barely eaten since that day at Hemmington’s. I want something warm and soft like pasta, or sweet. Ice cream?’
Dot seized Theodora by the arm and pulled her out of bed. Her vision swam with the effort. She lost her balance and the pair of them toppled onto the floor.
‘There you go,’ said Dot. ‘Just as you did for me – although you’ll have to summon your own towel and run your own bath.’
‘I quite hate you,’ said Theodora.
‘No, you don’t,’ said Dot. ‘Give me some money and I’ll go to the restaurant at the end of the road.’
Theodora sighed and pulled herself off the floor. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’ve caused you far too much pain to make you carry a fleet of noodles by yourself. I will go and, when I get back, I will give you the honesty you deserve.’
An hour later, Theodora set down two porcelain bowls and a number of side dishes. Her ringlets were damp and her eyes were red.
‘We could have eaten in the kitchen,’ said Dot. ‘Surely there’s enough to share.’
‘That,’ said Theodora, ‘is why we’re not eating in the kitchen.’
Dot looked pointedly at the witch.
‘I left Rupert money as I came in,’ said Theodora. ‘Those two will be just fine.’
Dot took up her bowl and sat in the chair by the window.
Theodora sat in the alcove. Cool, autumn air tumbled in and Dot stared out at the night-time city.
Unlike her north-facing window, this one gave a view of the east, over the rooftops of the Market District.
They ate in silence while Dot glanced curiously around the witch’s bedroom, now illuminated by lamps and candles.
She found her eye drawn to the wardrobe beside Belchamber.
It covered the north wall and was bigger than any wardrobe she had ever seen.
‘I really should ask about Salamander,’ said Dot. ‘But it’s clear that there is so much going on here that you’re quite paralysed by it all. So, let’s start at the beginning. Who is Cate, who is Opal and what did Acanthi do to you?’
Theodora looked down at her noodles.
‘They raised me.’